Help! There’s a Man in my House!

I used to have a little boy. A precious, precocious little person running around my home and stealing my heart with each smile. He blissfully raced down the hall, gleefully leapt over furniture, and valiantly defended the castle from all intruders. His fingerprints marred every surface, his toys littered every floor, and his giggles filled every room. He was wholly adorable and wholly my very own son.

As is only appropriate, I suppose, times have changed around the old homestead. The fingerprints still abound, but the toys have switched from Hot Wheels to handheld devices. And that jubilant, ecstatic giggle is, I’m rather reluctant to admit, now a young man’s chuckle. Somehow, right before my very own unbelieving eyes, my little one has transformed into a full-size male human being. How in the world is a mom supposed to adapt?

If we had the culturally normal relationship, I would shuttle Mr. Teen-Whirlwind off to school, from which he would return each evening, relatively grateful for my assistance with his homework. Our interaction would be correspondingly minimal, and we would function on a far less intense plane. Instead, I am a homeschool mom–his primary teacher–and the source of much of his daily burden. Our school-day interaction is successive and requires great diplomacy from both parties. As the adult and attendant authority, however, the primary responsibility for crafting and maintaining a fruitful relationship falls on my shoulders. As his mother, my job still remains to tend to him, heart and soul.

It is quite a bewildering notion to realize that I, the one who has ministered to all his wounds over the years, am capable of inflicting wounds of my own. My words–my very intonation–can cause his tender heart to inwardly bleed. A brusqueness in my demeanor can result in his retreat behind invisible, but tangible, walls of safety. Tis painful to realize that a young man’s mother, his harbor of safety, can become the ruinous storm from which he feels the need to retreat.

Nevertheless, God’s call on my role of mother has never changed. I am still to “train him up.” What must be amended, however, is the way I employ that role. A young man now lives in my home. A young man with hopes, dreams, and aspirations. A young man with a goal of being used by God. A young man who struggles to find himself worthy of these aims and ambitions. A young man who can be cut to the quick when affronted by one whom he needs to believe in him, encourage him, and give him wings to soar.

Truthfully, God created my son to grow to be a godly man, who will one day be a leader in his own life and home. In order to do this, he must grow up out from under me. The way I choose to interact with him can either help or hinder that God-designed process. For him to become God’s man, he must stop being momma’s boy. And I must encourage that growth, especially in rocky times.

How do I do that? When situations arise–as they daily do–I must first step out of the emotion of them. I am, after all, an adult. I need to recognize the wall, acknowledge the bleeding heart. It is imperative that I look at our current exchange from his point of view. By God’s word, I am obligated to analyze my own words and tone. What did I say? How did I say it? Did I communicate what was in my heart? Was my heart right to begin with? I need to allow God’s Spirit to deal with me.

Secondly, my son is deserving of any appropriate apology. Even though he is now a young man, as his mother, I am still allowed to correct, discipline, and instruct; and those corrections, disciplines, and instructions should be respected and obeyed. I am not, however, permitted to talk “down” to him–for he is now a man. My attitude toward him needs to reflect a fitting respect of his manhood.

Thirdly, I am the one responsible for getting the train wreck back on the right track. I must restore him by listening to him, acknowledging the validity of his complaint and how I made him feel, and help him move on in our mended relationship. I would undoubtedly do the same for any other adult. My son should be, in my own heart, even more worthy.

So, it’s true. My precious, precocious little person has gone, but a young adult person, just as precocious and definitely as precious in my eyes, has taken his place. This young man still longs for my guidance, love and discipline, but he now requires my respect. He still has smiles meant just for me, which capture my heart, but now I am honored to share them with his ever-enlarging world.